The Girl In The Red Plaid Dress
by FoxFacedFreak
Summary: This is my take on the 74th Hunger Games from Peeta's view. I'm not sure If I'll carry on with it after the end of the games but I will definitely take it all the way through to them winning and going home. Please read and review what I have so far! It is much appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

Okay guys so this is my first Fanfic and I am fairly new to the whole idea but this is my first attempt at writing for a big audience like this site so I hope you like the intro and I will upload more soon!

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As I file into the square under the shadow of the justice building a hush falls over the crowd. The mayor stands and welcomes us to the reaping of the 74th annual Hunger Games, and proceeds to recite the history of Panem, the history of the Capitol's defeat of the rebellion of the districts, of the rebellion that caused the creation of the Hunger Games. That caused the Capitol to have even more power over us.

As I stand motionless, willing the reaping to come to an end, the eccentric Capitol born Effie Trinket takes centre stage.

She is overly bright, both in colour and in attitude considering her hand is about to pick the 2 children from district 12 to be sent to die in the sick game the Capitol likes to play with us it's pets.

I am not listening when the girl's name is called, I know there is a long silence, then a scuffle and then, someone is shouting that they volunteer.

_'A volunteer?'_ I think, '_This has never happened before has it? At last not while I've been alive'._

I look up to the stage to see which selfless person has volunteered, my ears are ringing as the girl originally picked to enter the games is carried away kicking and shrieking, by a tall stocky young man, who I only see from behind.

The girl on turns after ascending the steps to the stage and faces the crowd.

As my eyes focus on her sad, tired face, I see it is her.

Katniss Everdeen. The girl in the red plaid dress.

And all of a sudden Effie Trinket is calling out the next name. The name of the boy tribute that will be entering into the 74th annual hunger games alongside Katniss Everdeen and the 22 other tributes being reaped across Panem.

Everyone, turns to look at me, and I realise she has called my name.

I am Peeta Mellark, and I am going to the Hunger Games.

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This is only the intro to my story but you can probably see where it is going, please do review! I'm new to this so I need all the help I can get!


	2. Chapter 2

I cannot process all of the emotions that are pulsing through me.

Fear, at the idea of being thrown into an arena with the trained killers that the careers from districts 1, 2 and 4 will almost certainly already be.

Anticipation, for the time that I will get to spend with the only person outside of my family members that I really, truly love.

Dread, at the thought of leaving my home, District 12, behind.

And, that all-consuming fear of death.

All of this becomes one huge tangled knot of emotion inside of me and I should, by all rights, have fainted and be sprawled out on the hard, coal dust encrusted cobble stones of the square, but instead as I process what is happening to me, I take one steady step at a time, until I reach the steps in front of the stage.

Effie is gesturing for me to hurry but I instead slow myself right down, worried I may fall over.

I take my place on the right hand side of Effie as she chimes in a cheery voice, 'And here we have your tributes from District 12!' She then motions for Katniss and myself to shake hands as is mandatory at this point. I take her hand and give it a supportive squeeze making eye contact for a split second before I drop my arms limply to my sides. 'Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour!' Effie says in finality and we are ushered into the justice building by Effie followed by 2 rather stern looking peacekeepers.

Effie congratulates us, mostly congratulates Katniss really, for making the reaping exciting.

Clearly she doesn't usually enjoy herself at the reaping. '_We have at least one thing in common there',_ I think.

'But I'll most definitely be noticed by the gamemakers this year! How could they ignore this remarkable turn of events?!' she bursts out. '_On second thoughts perhaps we have nothing in common'_ I say in my head.

Katniss and I are then sent to separate rooms to say goodbye to our family and friends, and I can feel my tears welling up, threatening to spill over as my eyes become ever more full and my vision blurs. Just as the peacekeeper shuts the door tightly behind me, I let out a strangled sob that has been trapped in my throat and let the tears stream down my face.

My mother and father are the first to enter the room followed closely by my 2 older brothers. My father embraces me in his warm arms and I feel comforted, but as he pulls away I realise I may never know this feeling again so I cling to him like a 3 year old would to their father's leg. I begin sobbing uncontrollably into my father's jacket, and my mother scolds me fiercely saying 'You'll never win the games like that you _stupid_ boy. Be a _man_ and accept the situation.' I am angered by my mother's harsh words, but not surprised. She carries on, her words stinging, 'Just try and die with some _dignity_ would you? And whatever you do, don't get _her_ killed. District 12 might finally have another Victory this year. She's a fighter that one. A survivor.'  
With no regard for my feelings whatsoever, my mother has already announced to me that I am as good as dead to her, and intead she is counting on Katniss returning home. Not me. Not her youngest son.

My mother is a machine. A cold, hard, heartless, machine who doesn't say another word whilst in the room. My brothers slap me on the back and warn me not to do anything stupid. Offer me support. Encourage me, as she stares out of the rotting wooden framed window over 12. Apparently pretending she now only has 2 sons.

The peacekeeper enters abruptly and cuts off a final conversation between me and my father. He simply says: 'All of you, _out_.' In a commanding tone, and as my family are not ones to cause a fuss they do so without even a look back over their shoulders' to give me reassurance.

They are gone as quickly as they came, and with the soft closing of the wooden door into it's frame, I slump onto a couch against the wall feeling raw and disheartened, realising that from now on, it is me and me only against the world.

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Second chapter hopefully is a little better than the first (:  
Review and let me know what you think? (:


	3. Chapter 3

I am left alone for a little over 10 minutes and in this time I try to put myself back together again.

I know my mother can be blunt. I know she can be harsh. But I didn't know she was capable of _that_.

I remember back to when I was 11. I had burned some bread in the bakery oven, just 2 small loaves. I told her it was an accident but it still warranted a punishment. I had a huge purple bruise just above my eye for around 2 weeks.

I realise I am crying at the memory, not crying, weeping. I dry my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt and then roll up my sleeves hoping to disguise the fact I have been crying.

I hope that my brothers at least will keep an eye out for me. That they have not already given up on me too.

I know that my father won't have.

He will be live in front of the television.

He will work whilst watching the games.

If he has deliveries to make, he will ask someone he trusts completely to carry out the duty instead, while he stays glued to the games.

A few years ago a boy in my brother's class at school was reaped. He was called Ostro, and he was like another brother to me.

He had worked at the bakery and my father had taken him under his wing, because he had lived at the orphanage here in 12.

It was, and still is a horrible place to live. They get one meal a day if they're lucky, and they are mostly avoided by the other children at school.

My father hated this and told us not to ignore these children. 'They have awful lives already, don't make them any worse.' He always told us. I was never brave enough to approach them, but my brother was.

Ostro was one of the most genuine and kind people I have ever known. He got stronger and stood taller as he spent more time at the bakery. He shared our bread which, although stale, was his favourite food. Our _stale_ bread.

Then 2 years after he began working for my father, just as a helping hand around the bakery, he was reaped. He was 18. He would have been free, but it would seem the odds just weren't in his favour.

I was 14 when he died in the games.

My father looked out for him.

He didn't even sleep while Ostro was in the games.

In every free moment he found, my father would sit planted firmly in front of our old television box ignoring anyone else's presence but mine.

I was the one he trusted - to deliver his bread. He always thanked me when I returned home, and gave me a coin for giving up my evening, but I didn't spend the money.

I gave them away.

Each time I was given a coin, I would pass it on to an orphan at school. They never knew it was from me but I made sure they knew it was a gift. From a _friend_.

This is how I know my father will live, until I come home or until I die.

Thinking of my father waiting for me to return home should give me the motivation to try and win, but instead it makes me feel lower than dirt.

He may be rooting for me, watching every second of games coverage he possibly can, but it will not save my life.

I must do that. By removing the competition.

My stomach churns and flips as I imagine the competitors I may have to brutally slay to come out on top.

And my mind comes to rest on Katniss.

'I can't kill her' I whisper to myself just as the door swings open.

Effie is there, 'Come along Peeta!' she sings at me, and then she is telling me, 'Oh it's such a wonderful opportunity, for the both of you! You should be grateful to the Capitol really.'

At with that sentence I decide to ignore everything else that comes out of Effie's mouth.

I stand and leave the small room, my stomach still swirling with emotion.

I step outside tears beginning to well up again, and she is there. Katniss Everdeen is standing just across the hall from me.

I swallow back my tears and look her in the face.

She looks sad. Sad and confused, which is normal for this situation, but she has not been crying. Her expression is cold and as she returns my gaze, I think about how easily she could kill me.

I would be an easy target for her. She who can kill so cleanly, so efficiently.

I imagine what she must think of me.

I picture my pink face. My puffy, bloodshot eyes. Fresh from crying.

I am weak.

I remember my mother's words, 'Just try and die with some _dignity_ would you?'

At that moment I am certain I am going to die.

As we begin walking out of the back doors of the justice building, we are ushered into a car.

I take in my home one last time. Knowing I will not see it again.

'Goodbye' I mutter, as the tears begin to cascade down my cheeks once more.

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So there is my next chapter (:  
I'm not sure how far I am going to go with this fanfic at the moment, but please review and I will try to write more! (:


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay guys here's chapter 4! It's double the length of the others at 2000 words, because I couldn't stop writing! If I get a couple of reviews I might upload more later! SO REVIEW! (:**

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We arrive promptly at the train station and as Katniss and I step out of the car we are bombarded by an ocean of cameras and reporters.

I self-consciously wipe the remaining tears from my face and attempt to compose my features. I know that it is no use though, that I have almost certainly already been branded as a weakling.

This thought threatens to send another wave of salty tears spilling over but I choke them back, resolving to cry into a pillow on the train tonight; where no one can see or hear me.

Effie joins us on the platform before the train ordering us to show 'Big, big, big smiles!' naturally we don't and this leaves her annoyed.

Finally after what feels like a lifetime, she turns her back to the cameras and addresses us. 'Right then, come long you two! Onto the train we go!' she squeals with an unnaturally wide smile plastered across her face.

We obey and step through the sliding door and inside the carriage. The wall slides back into place behind us and the outside world is gone.

I half forget the circumstances of my arrival on this train as I am left in awe of everything that surrounds me. Everything is new. Brand new, and shiny. The seats which are placed uniformly along the left hand side of the train are covered with a thick, plush, royal blue fabric. I have never felt such softness before. Someone, a capitol attendant I think, tells me it is velvet as I caress it with my rough baker's fingers. The tables that line the right hand wall are scattered with pretty and intricate decorations, but upon inspection I see that the beautiful décor is actually food.

I try to push my sadness deep down inside of me as I realise the opportunity I have to gorge myself before the games begin, maybe put on a few pounds that I can stand to lose when the games start.

I turn to Effie seeking permission to disrupt the display, and Katniss must feel exactly the same. I can see she has the same pleading look in her deep seam grey eyes. 'Well don't just stand there,' Effie chimes 'enjoy the fantastic food! I cant imagine you get many nice things coming from 12.' I decide to ignore the second half of her sentence and grab a plate, piling it high with delicacies.

Once I am satisfied I have enough on my plate I follow Katniss to take a seat next to the wide train window. Effie tells us she will go and find Haymitch and we sit and await her return as we eat.

About 5 minutes later, a drunken Haymitch stumbles into the carriage. He knocks a great deal of food off the table top and onto the floor which makes me and Katniss cringe. What an _extraordinary_ waste of food.

He looks up at us, 'Congratulations,' he says in an obviously sarcastic tone. He reeks of alcohol as is usual for Haymitch from what I have heard. After winning the games he became withdrawn and angry, turning to drink for a way out.

Then he vomits all over the carpet. Oh no.

Haymitch is naturally not the best on his feet anyway, being drunk, but now even more so than usual he is thrown off balance by the slippery contents of his stomach all over the floor.

I hear Effie come in behind me 'I can't seem to fi- Oh!' She takes in the scene and flees the carriage.

I sigh inwardly because I know what I am going to do next.

'Come on Haymitch' I say in a weary tone which appears in my voice, 'let's get you back to your room huh?'

'Can you give me a hand?' I ask Katniss softly. The first words I have exchanged with her. My girl in the red plaid dress.

'Sure,' she agrees but doesn't seem overly convinced. I take the weight of Haymitch on my right shoulder, wedging it under his arm. Katniss leads us into his room. We dump him in the bathtub and turn on the shower. He doesn't even notice as far as I can tell.

I can see in her expression that she is dreading what comes next, so I tell her 'It's okay, I'll take it from here.'

Relief floods her face and she agrees. She offers to send one of the capitol attendants to help me but I refuse. I can't be in such close proximity with someone who, in a week or so, will most likely be betting on children set to kill me in a sick fight to the death.

Katniss leaves me with Haymitch. I strip him down to his underclothes and once I have scrubbed the stench of his stomach contents from his body, he is practically unconscious. I shut off the shower, pat him dry with a towel and haul him onto his bed. I decide not to pull the covers over him because it is stuffy in the train.

I then head to my own room where I find some bed clothes laid out on top of a chest of drawers. I put them on, folding my reaping clothes neatly in their place and crawl in between the intricately embroidered bed sheets knowing that I will not sleep tonight.

I do not sleep as I had predicted. I spend the night thrashing from side to side, crying into my pillow as I had promised myself I would, missing my own bed at home, and feeling ill. I regret eating all that food yesterday. My poor diet rejects it and I have my head in the toilet bowl at least 3 times during in the night.

I lie in the unfamiliar bed, restless and refusing sleep until I see the faintest streak of orange on the horizon. I can finally get out of my stuffy room. I shower quickly and dress in yesterday's clothes while admiring the sunrise as my favourite shade of amber spreads across the sky.

I head down the corridor to the room we came to first yesterday. I see the food first as I enter the room and rush straight over, vowing to pace myself this time. I put only 3 small woven bread rolls on my plate and turn to the table behind me. I am surprised to see Haymitch, who is picking at an apple with a knife, sat before me.

'Sit down boy,' he commands and I do. Not because he told me to, but because I was about to anyway. I wonder what the time is. It can't be earlier than 6am.

He looks me in the face for a while, then when he finally speaks again, 'Thanks.' Is all he says. I assume he means from last night and I only nod in return.

After watching me eat the first roll awkwardly, he calls over a capitol attendant and asks for something called 'hot chocolate'. Within a minute a hot cup of sweet smelling brown liquid is set in front of me.

'Tear the rolls up and dip them in there.' He recommends, 'Might as well make the most of the food while you can.'

I tear a strip off of one of my remaining rolls and do as he said. I am rewarded; the hot liquid spews onto my tongue as I bite into the roll. It is an intense but sweet flavour that I love. After getting through my 2 remaining rolls quickly, I take the whole basket from the buffet table.

As I begin tearing them into strips, my mind is cat back to when I burned the bread at the bakery. _Why_ I burned the bread at the bakery.

I was only 12 but I had known Katniss since I was 5, known _of_ her really. On the first day of school, my father pointed her out to me as the girl whose mother he had wanted to marry. the girl whose mother ran off with a coal miner, - a man whose singing voice was so beautiful, that even the birds stopped to listen to it.

I watched her all day. Every moment she was in my line of vision. I remember the assembly where she was asked to sing the valley song by our teacher. She stood up tall on a stool in her red plaid dress, with 2 long braids falling down her back, and sang. I knew right then that I was a goner. As she finished the song, just before she was applauded, there was a moment of silence. A moment that I realised all the birds were listening to her sing too.

I never got up the courage to talk to the girl in the plaid dress. I would try. Walk up to stand right behind her, but only stay for a second and then carry on walking. When she was almost 12 her father died in a mine accident. I remember her sprinting through the corridors of our school to collect her little sister as the sirens sounded.

Her father was killed and I knew she wasn't doing well.

One horrid day, I heard my mother screaming at someone to 'Get out of those bins!' she shouted profanities in their direction and I thought no more of it. Until I saw _her_ through the back window of the bakery. She was doubled over, kneeling in a muddy puddle, rain coming town in torrents and she just knelt there. I could see she had been holding something but she had dropped it in the dirt. Whatever it was, it was ruined. I could hear her sobs; see how they racked her body, how she clutched at her chest as if her heart might jump out and run away.

I couldn't stand to leave her there. I was about to take her 2 good loaves I had just baked, about to walk right up to her and put my arms around her and tell her everything was alright. But my mother startled me. I dropped them in the fire. She hit me; leaving a brooding purple bruise above my left eye. I still scooped them out of the fire, pretended to throw them to the pigs. But instead I sent them flying in her direction.

They landed no more than a metre away. I looked her right in her seam grey, hollow eyes just for a moment, and then I vanished back inside. I saw her look so bewildered by the kindness of a stranger. Then, she wrapped the hot loaves into her jacket and staggered away.

Then Haymitch snaps me back to reality by asking 'So boy, what's your angle?'

'Angle?' I ask confused 'What angle?'

'Your angle for the parade, the interview, the games,' Haymitch replies. 'What do you want it to be?'

'I-I'm not sure.' I answer. 'I've still not completely taken in where I'm going, let alone how I want to play it!' I am aware that I am almost yelling at Haymitch now so I lower my tone and ask: 'What angle do you think would be best for me?'

Haymitch grunts in annoyance, probably hoping to skip having to decide on an angle himself, and looks me up and down. 'Maybe… Genuine? Or friendly? But that doesn't go down too well unless you're an obvious contender' he tells me bluntly 'and I know you've got some muscle on you but you ain't no career.'

'Oh,' I sigh. Then I have an idea. A mad, crazy, stupid idea. My stomach churns but I say it anyway.

'What about in love?' I ask quietly and shyly, dreading Haymitch's reply.

'In love with who?' he counters, and I know I will have to tell him.

Tell him that if I want to ride this train again, I will have to see the love of my life die.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay guys, so I've used a bit of dialogue from the book in here and I just ant to say Suzanne Collins owns those bits I'm not trying to steal it, the fandom wouldn't allow me. So enjoy Chapter 5!**

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I explain to Haymitch. I tell him everything, about the music assembly, about her singing, even about the bread. This is the first time I have ever told anyone what I really truly feel for Katniss Everdeen. It is terrifying, satisfying and relieving all at the same time.

Haymitch periodically interjects with questions like: 'So you love her but you never spoke to her till now?'

It is questions like this that throw me off guard, and as my face falls into an expression of both sadness and embarrassment. Haymitch just laughs. Then I notice that he tries to control his emotion, and I realise it's because Katniss is walking through the door.

Haymitch's mocking demeanour changes instantly as he beckons Katniss to take a seat. She does.

I have been given another mug of hot chocolate and my basket of rolls still sit before me, so I continue to eat my indulgent breakfast. Someone places a mug of the same liquid before Katniss and she looks at it, somewhat confused.

'They call it hot chocolate' I tell her in a steady voice. 'It's good.'

This seems to satisfy her and as she takes one sip, her features light up in pleasure. I watch as she empties her cup before even touching any of the other food on offer. I wonder if he cried last night as I did. Probably not. She wants to make it home as much as me.

And then I realise. I can't go home if it means she won't be there. My body tenses in sadness and anger at this thought. I can't stand being inside my own head, so I decide to drum up a conversation.

'So you're supposed to give us advice.' I say very matter-of-factly to Haymitch.

'Here's some advice,' he retorts 'Stay alive.'

I am suddenly angered even more, and his laughter riles me. I know he is drunk, but a man who has already gone through this should surely show some more empathy towards us?

'Well that's very funny,'

I snap back at our mentor, and before I know what I am doing I have knocked the cut crystal glass of red liquid from Haymitch's hand and it is shattered on the floor of the train. I maintain eye contact with Haymitch as I conclude my sentence.

'Only _not_ to _us_.'

Haymitch look me in the eye, weighing up the situation in his shrivelled alcohol soaked mind. He must come to a violent conclusion because before I can blink twice I am on the floor.

He punches me hard, so hard, but I stand up rubbing my jaw to see Katniss's sharp knife driven into the table between Haymitch's hand and the bottles of spirits the opposite side of it. I take a handful of ice from a fruit tureen sat on Katniss's plate to press against my throbbing jaw, as Haymitch says:

'Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?'

He then notices the ice about to make contact with me hot swollen skin but tells me to let the bruise show. I think it I a stupid idea, but he tells me that sponsors may think I got into a fight with another tribute.

'But that's against the rules,' I say stupidly.

'Only if they catch you.' He replies. Deadly serious.

As I turn my attention to the mess of broken crystal on the floor I hear Haymitch asking Katniss if she's any good with knives. I watch doubtful, as I know full well her weapon is the bow and arrow, but I am surprised when she sticks the knife perfectly between 2 wooden panels that decorate the walls of the train. _Wow_, I think.

Haymitch then tells us to stand in the centre of the narrow room. I dodge the broken crystal to stand next to Katniss as Haymitch ordered.

He circles us like a vulture picking up my left arm, I think to examine my muscular physique but I am unsure. After a few minutes of this, I am tired and increasingly self-conscious.

Then he stops suddenly telling us that we're 'attractive enough' and 'not entirely hopeless' and 'seem fit'. I quietly think to myself, _this is an improvement on a few minutes ago when he was punching me in the face._

He then confronts us with an ultimatum. That he will stay sober enough to be of use to us – in terms of getting sponsors – but we can't interfere with his drinking, full stop.

This worries me. After what I had to deal with last night I'm unsure as to whether Haymitch even knows the meaning of the word sober, but I agree anyway. Mostly because Katniss does, and if she is willing to give this compromise a try, I trust her judgement.

Then Haymitch leaves us with one final order. 'In a few minutes you'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you but whatever it is, _don't_ resist.'

I hear Katniss try to complain but she is cut off by Haymitch's angry reply. 'No buts! _Don't_ resist.' He then stalks off out of the carriage and we hear the door slam behind him.

All of a sudden we are in darkness. We stand silently, but as I glance over at Katniss, her face illuminated in the weak lights of the train, I see the tension in her muscles. I remember how her father died, crushed in the mines beneath 12, and wonder if that is what she is thinking of, as we barrel through the tunnel that is carved through the mountains to the east of the capitol. We are surrounded by a crushing weight of rock but I am not fazed. I simply side step a little closer to her, for comfort but she doesn't even notice.

Just 2 minutes after we entered the tunnel, our eyes are assaulted, not only by the light cascading through the wide glass train windows, but by the array of colours we see outside. We both immediately run though, to see what has only been shown to us through a television set, and I try to decide what I think of the ruling city of Panem.

Magnificent, yes. Powerful, yes. Ridiculous, definitely.

The colours, they're just too bright. Hideous colours splashed all over the people, those people. As we roll into the station, the recognition of our tribute train is instant.

People screaming, people waving, people throwing roses. Cameras are flashing now, as they see us at the windows. The atmosphere here is far too excited to say that we will most likely be dead in a week, deaths that they are excited by.

Katniss backs away from the scene, as I want to, but I refuse to be intimidated by these people.

I plaster as genuine a smile as I can muster across my face, and wave to the people outside. I stand for 5 minutes.

Smiling and waving. Smiling and waving. Smiling and waving. It is mindless.

I turn to Katniss then who is staring at me in bewilderment. In explanation, I simply say: 'Who knows, one of them could be rich.' And continue to wave to my adoring audience.

As we are lead out of the train, the cameras are thrust in our faces. I can only imagine the shocked expressions we must show as I step into a long black car, that I her someone call a 'Limo', followed by Katniss, Haymitch, and Effie.

Inside the car is as luxurious as the train, but the only thing that makes a lasting impression are the sparkling lights in the ceiling that remind me of the sky of district twelve on a clear summer night.

When the car stops we pile out into a large room with 2 enormous doors at one end. I am escorted by Haymitch to my prep team to be arranged for the opening ceremonies tonight.

'I've been thinking about your angle boy,' he tells me quietly, and I look around to check Effie and Katniss were out of ear shot and I am relieved to see them walking in the opposite direction, well out of hearing range.

'I think you might be able to pull it off.'

This news should fill me with joy but instead it fills me with dread. I will have to admit my love to every single citizen of Panem.

Not yet. I will have a few days to prepare myself for my interview with Caesar Flickerman before I drop the bombshell.

Then Haymitch says, 'Okay, Peeta' this is the first time he has called me by name, 'this is Tyra, Vira and Zane. They are your prep team.' I take in the 3 patterned little beings in front of me and turn to Haymitch in protest. He just gives me a stern look and then play fully says 'Have fun,' in a sing-song-y voice, and walks away.

'Hello Peeta, I am Vira! Could you please follow us?' says one of the small creatures. I assume it is a woman but I could be wrong. I follow the trio, who are all 3 wobbling on high heels, into a small blue room with a table in the centre.

'Okay then precious,' another chirps, 'if you would pleas strip don to your under clothes we can get started!'

I am reluctant but I remember Haymitch's instructions: 'You're not going to like what they do to you but whatever it is, _don't_ resist'

I do as they say and then I am directed to sit on the table. I am pushed into lying down and just stay completely still a the three mill around me.

They apply various concoctions to my skin, buff me, polish me, shape my nails – which I don't much see the point of – trim my hair into a more uniform style, and finally turn to my eyebrows with tweezers to make them into an acceptable shape.

After all this is finished, I have been lying in the remake centre for what I judge to be a little over 3 hours, when the one who I have discovered is called Zane - and is a male - pulls me into a sitting position. My muscles complain but I remain quiet.

'Alright then Peeta! You are all finished! We will take you to see Portia now, she is your stylist. She will tell you all about your costume and administer the final treatment to you!' he sings at me. All I hear is 'Portia your stylist'.

'So I'm done?' I ask tiredly

'For now you are yes! Your final most important treatment will be administered the day before the games begin, before the interview!' Tyra chimes in.

_Final treatment?_ I think, well it can't be much worse than the long hours I have spent here with these 3 mad capitol dwellers.

There is a light knock on the door and the prep team rush to let the woman in. As she steps into the room she gives Tyra, Vira and Zane a curt nod. They each nod back and leave the room quietly

When she speaks her voice is like honeysuckle, soft and sweet compared to the high pitched tones of my prep team. 'Hello Peeta, I am Portia. I will be you stylist for the games.' I smile at Portia. She seems nice enough.

Portia gestures for me so sit down on a red sofa which is the same velvet material I first encountered on the train - It must be expensive. As I sit she takes a perch opposite me on an identical seat.

'You must be hungry after all that time in remake, would you like some food?' I am nodding before Portia can even ask the question. I am starving.

Portia presses a small blue button on the edge of a table placed in between us and 2 servers dressed completely in white place a heaped plate of food in front of each of us.

There is a small flower shaped roll at the top of the plate, which I am familiar with. I bake it on rare occasion for the Mayor and his family. Then my eyes are drawn to a ruby red sauce splashed over a 2 tiny roast birds on a bed of sweet smelling grain, surrounded by miniature vegetables. I almost don't want to disturb the arrangement of the food but hunger wins out and it is gone within minutes.

Portia doesn't look surprised and just chuckles when I place my cutlery neatly in the centre of my plate.

'Would you like something to drink Peeta?' Portia asks me kindly.

I think about what I would like to drink. My mind is cast back to the hot chocolate this morning on the train and I cannot pass up the opportunity to taste some more.

'Um, I'd like some hot chocolate, if that's okay?' I say reluctantly. I then think myself stupid because why shouldn't it be okay? If I am going to die for their pleasure, they can let me have all I want while I am still alive.

'Of course!' Portia replies enthusiastically. I take in her features while she calls over one of the servers in white.

Portia has a slight frame, which is made up for in her outfit, which sports a large puffy skirt and massive shoulder pads balancing out her figure. She has beautiful chocolate brown hair that frizzes out in a ball around her head. It is in perfect contrast with her tan skin, and I feel like her soft violet eyes, although inviting, could pierce right through your soul.

My hot chocolate is placed before me and I look at the server to give them my thanks, but am stopped short. Portia thanks both of the servers for me, as if to prevent me from talking to them and quickly dismisses them. I soon understand why.

'Peeta…' Portia begins hesitantly, 'I have been speaking with Haymitch,' It is with these 6 words I know where our conversation is heading.

'He told you about my _angle_, didn't he?' I question. She nods politely but I know she doesn't know what to say next.

'Would you like me to explain from the beginning, Portia?' I ask her my tone serious but I am somewhat amused by her awkwardness.

'If you wouldn't mind Peeta,' she says gratefully.

And so I tell Portia everything that I had told Haymitch on the train. About the first time I saw Katniss, about the music assembly, about her singing, and finally about the bread.

Portia looks like she might cry, but she doesn't. She thanks me for sharing this with her and immediately moves on to my costume for the opening ceremony.

'So Peeta, for the parade…' then she trails off and then looks at me. The mischief in her unfathomable violet eyes is unmistakable.

'How do you feel about _fire_?'


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay guys so here is chapter 6! Its a little shorter than the last one, not as muc to write about, but the next one will be a bit more interesting! Hope you like it! Read and review!**

**( By the way, I have used tome dialogue from the book in here and don't own it so... yeah. All rights belong to Suzanne Collins (: )**

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As Portia explains my costume, she helps me get into it. It is a simple black jumpsuit that has a round neck and covers me all the way to my wrists and ankles. I am also wearing knee high leather boots, which Portia leaves me to tie. I double knot them ritualistically.

I do not hear all of what Portia is saying; I only hear parts of the explanation of the nature of my costume.

'… really not in any danger…'

'…synthetic flames…'

'…Cinna and I … very careful…'

I keep tuning out her words unintentionally; I put it down to a fear of burning alive, and begin to grit my teeth in fear. I tell myself I must stop it immediately.

I ignore myself.

She has stopped talking now, and is fixing some sort of cape to my shoulders and placing something, a head dress I think, upon my brow.

'Okay, all done.' she says, sounding satisfied. 'Now look at me?' she asks and I oblige, staring deep into her violet irises as she takes in her newest creation.

'Perfect,' she sighs, and flashes me a reassuring smile. Then she turns to the mirror behind her, fixes her already immaculate hair, and takes my hand to lead me from the room.

Portia leads me down a hall way and we step into a glass elevator. Portia presses the last button on the panel inside and I watch helplessly as the ground gets closer extremely quickly.

Portia sees my discomfort and murmurs comfortingly, 'Don't worry, we're perfectly safe Peeta.'

Seeing that this doesn't satisfy me, she gives my hand a small squeeze just as we reach the floor.

Relieved, I follow Portia from the elevator and she holds an extremely heavy looking door open for me. I feel as though our roles here should be reversed, so I take the weight from her and gesture for her to go ahead of me. She nods and smiles gratefully.

As I enter the enormous room Portia has lead me to, I begin to feel a real and present sense of fear. I glance around at the other tributes stood around heir chariots, who do not seem bothered by our entrance, as we approach Katniss and who I assume to be Cinna, Portia's stylist partner whom she mentioned earlier.

Cinna and Portia lead us to our own chariot and I notice that Katniss's costume is identical to mine. I am pleased by this. Haymitch has already spoken with the stylists who in turn, have tried to incorporate my 'In love' angle into our appearance. Katniss doesn't seem to notice, or mind.

Cinna orders us into our chariot which is drawn by 4 magnificent coal black horses. He arranges our stances and positions our limbs exactly how he pleases and I do not resist, not wanting to do anything to provoke being set alight. I begin to grit my teeth again, standing stock still with muscles tensed next to Katniss, who is the only thing keeping me grounded in this situation. Cinna and Portia arrange our capes and then withdraw to discuss something.

The grinding of my teeth must sound as if I am a horse chomping on a bit but I don't care.

'What do you think?' Katniss whispers, her voice wavering, and I know she is as terrified as me.

'I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine,' I say through my teeth which seem to be cemented together.

'Deal.' she whispers back gratefully, and she relaxes a little. Then she continues, 'I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly as they say, but I don't think he considered this angle.'

I know exactly what she means and I think out loud in reply.

'Where is Haymitch anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?' I retort, a small amount of anger creeping into my already tense voice.

'Well,' Katniss begins, 'with all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable for him to be around an open flame.'

I laugh, really laugh, for the first time in a long time at this comment. _I really do love her_, I think quietly, and steal a glance at her beautiful, animated face as she ducks her head to try and stop laughing.

Just at this moment, the music begins to play, and the large doors at the end of the large room open wide, and district 1's chariot rolls out onto the street.

I wonder when we will be set alight because Cinna is currently nowhere to be seen. As we get nearer the door I look around for him worriedly and then, just as district 11 are heading through the doors, he is there.

'Here we go then,' he murmurs and then we are on fire. He lights our capes first and then our headdresses. To my surprise he lets a sigh of relief cross his lips whispering 'it works,'

I am stunned, that they would put our live on the line like that, but then I remember that I am going to die in about a week anyway. I dismiss the thought as Cinna jumps from the chariot.

I hear him exclaim 'Oh!' and I turn expecting to see him fall to the ground but instead he calls after us.

'Hold hands!' I think I hear him shout, so I turn to my right to tell Katniss his instruction and I am blown away. She is breathtaking. Her face is glowing, the flickering light from her headdress casting dancing shadows across her perfect features. Her hair is in her trademark braid down her back and I love it.

She turns to me before I tell her my instruction, and asks 'What is he saying?' as she sees Cinna gesturing.

I just manage to choke out 'I think he said for us to hold hands.' I grab a hold of Katniss's hand and turn to Cinna. He nods and shows us a thumbs up seconds before we roll out of the door, and the roar of the capitol crowd engulfs us, drowning out all other noise.

The crowd consume us as we roll towards our futures.

* * *

I am going to fall.

I'm trembling.

I'm hoping though, that it will just look like the jolting of the chariot and not my own incomprehensible fear.

I am smiling though; like I did at the train station. Smiling through my loathing, and even waving some. I glance around to Katniss who is obviously flawless. She is waving and even blowing kisses to some of the crowd as she tries to catch their roses. She might even be enjoying this. The adoration. I try to take a leaf from her book and do the same, widening my smile and sending my kisses in the general direction of my rose throwers.

I look straight ahead and see we are fast approaching the city circle and the president's mansion. I see our faces on the enormous screens places periodically along the route and am relieved to see I look happy, almost ecstatic actually.

Then I feel Katniss slightly release her grip on my hand. It is only the tiniest shift in pressure but immediately, I feel nauseous. 'No,' I say terrified, 'don't let go of me.' I look her in the face, unsure if she can see the fear in my eyes.

'Please, I might fall out of this thing.' I tell her in my most pleading tone of voice.

She looks at me with uncertain expression which she hides instantly with a kind smile, saying, 'Okay.' she regains her tight grip on me, looking back towards our adoring fans.

I start to relax again. I wonder quietly in the back of my mind, whether I could do this, any of this, if my district partner was anyone but her. I decide the answer is probably no, but I will never know a definite answer so I shake the thought from my mind as the chariot comes to a halt in the city circle.

I see that the large screens show an image of the full semi-circle of tributes. I see that District 1 look nice in their luxury attire, District 4 is even quite striking in their merman and mermaid styled outfits, but in the fading light, _we_ are _spectacular_.

The president begins giving the official welcome to the games. It is the same every year, except for this year he will say '74th annual Hunger Games'. I let my eyes wander, searching the streets which are full of people. Garish, overly colourful people. By the end of the speech my eyes have wandered to a large screen just below where the president stands, and has an almost constant feed of the district 12 chariot.

I make a mental note to thank Cinna and Portia when I next see them, for without them we wouldn't have made any impact on the capitol people at all.

We are moving again, and I realised I have missed President Snow's entire speech. _Well, _I think, _I've watched it religiously for 16 years, it is just a small pasty skinned white haired man reading a long winded welcome from a card. _I decide I can't have missed much.

The horses take us around the mansion and into a building similar to the remake centre, but I know from watching many Hunger Games that this is the Tribute's home for our time leading up to the arena. This is the training centre.

Obviously we are the last to pull into the centre and we are greeted by Cinna and Portia who help us down from our chariot and carefully remove, first our head dresses and then our capes. Portia put out the flames quickly with some sort of spray from an aerosol can and I turn my attention towards my hand, still in an iron grip around Katniss's. I stretch my fingers which complain tremendously and begin to massage my hand as I see her doing.

'Thanks for keeping hold of me.' I tell Katniss, 'I was getting a little shaky there.' My voice is trembling slightly but not enough for her to pick up on.

She tries to reassure me, telling me, 'It didn't show. I'm sure no one noticed.' I try to smile at her warmly, but I can feel my facial muscles seizing up, and my effort must seem rather half hearted.

I try to make up for this weak effort by saying, 'I'm sure they didn't notice anything but _you_. You should wear flames more often.' I declare confidently, and then say a little more reservedly 'they suit you.'

I'm sure the make-up that Portia put in me earlier hides my blush but I look down at my toes for a moment just to be safe.

When I look up again, she steps towards me and plants a kiss just above my jaw line. It throbs a little where her supple lips meet my skin, and I know she has kissed me upon the bruise Haymitch left this morning.

I smile shyly in return, but after she has turned away, I find myself beaming from ear to ear. My facial muscles are protesting, but I ignore them.

I was just kissed by Katniss Everdeen.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay so here's the next bit of the fic, sorry I didn't update yesterday, I was at work.**

**I hope you like what I've done with his character, it shows you a bit more of is emotional side (:**  
**Read, Review and ENJOY!x**

* * *

We see many other tributes giving us dirty looks as we make our way to the elevator which will take us up to the tower where we are staying. We simply step in, press the number of our district and we're there in no time at all. I think I should be able to remember that. Effie Trinket meets us just outside the crystal elevator and hurries us inside.

As we climb into the small glass cubicle, I see my reflection in a wall panel just as the doors slide shut. I am grinning like an idiot and stop immediately, making my face into an indifferent mask. Inwardly though, I feel like I could float up to our floor without the aid of this elevator, but I know that this weightless feeling is just the after effect of being kissed, even if only on the cheek, by Katniss Everdeen.

As I begin to snap out of my love driven stupor, I begin to wonder why Effie is here with us. I always thought she would just act as our guide from 12 to the capitol. Evidently, I was wrong.

She will stay with us until we enter the arena, acting as our escort. Making sure we are delivered to places on time. I think she must really be here because of Haymitch's drink problem but I don't dwell on the thought too much, remembering his promise to us on the train. It can't be Haymitch's decision to have Effie here though; he hates the sight of the capitol people as much as we do, perhaps even _more_ than we do.

My gaze meets the floor and I notice how high up in the air we are. The people stood around down stairs could be mere specs of dirt engrained on the crystal. My eyes snap up again quickly as I try not to think about how far we stand to fall if something goes wrong.

Then I remember that this is the capitol, and the only thing going wrong here is a child being forced to kill another.

I realise Effie is regaling us with a story, I think of her day about town. She is obviously more excited than we are about our popularity in the parade, as it seems she has been weighing up potential sponsors for us and I make a mental note not to dismiss Effie as totally useless.

Her voice then takes on an extremely animated tone as she tells us, possibly the most intelligent thing _she thinks_ she has ever said.

'I have been very mysterious with your sponsors as I don't know your strategies,' she informs us, 'and some were very reluctant, what with you coming from the _coal district_.'

I notice Katniss recoil a little at this statement and I am reminded of her father trapped in the deep solemn mines below twelve, which are the graves for so many.

'But I did say, and this was rather clever of me.' continues Effie, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls!'

I shoot an amused look at Katniss for just a second, and then respond overly enthusiastically to Effie's brilliant, but extraordinarily wrong statement.

I can see where she got the idea from, but pearls come from inside shellfish you find in the sea that District 4 sits on the coast of. I think there is some sort of rock that if you can pressurize it enough it turns into a diamond, but the name of the rock escapes me.

As we reach the top level, and our home for the next week, I catch my breath. We are given an entire floor of the tower, most likely to stop us from going stir crazy, and the sheer size of our living quarters stuns me. I can only guess how many times the size of my home above the bakery this place is.

As Katniss is pointed to a room by Effie, Cinna whom I had forgotten was in the elevator with us, walks me to further down the corridor.

I expect to be taken into a room nearby but Cinna keeps walking, guiding me with his hand tangibly close to, but never touching my back.

We come to a door, which he opens and motions for me to follow him up the stairs behind it. As we come to the top of the stairs, there is yet another door which opens out into a large domed room.

The next door we come to is already open and we stroll through it casually. I am unsure where we are until Cinna leads me over to a hand rail straight ahead of us and I look down.

The first thing I feel is that I am going to fall, and instinctively take a small step backward.

'Wow,' I sigh, as I take in the magnificence of the Capitol from high in the sky. I am on the roof of the training centre. I start to wonder if this is even allowed, but I remember Cinna has brought me here and decide not to question him, as he is the most normal Capitol citizen I have encountered so far. The only decoration embellishing him, is a tiny amount of golden eye liner, drawn right on the tips of his eye lids.

'Why are we allowed up here?' I ask, 'I mean surely it's a hotspot for tribute's suicides?'

As an answer, Cinna picks up a small pebble from the floor and throws it off the roof. There is a small zapping sound and it flies right back into has still open palm.

'Force field.' He mutters and then he rubs the stone between his thumb and fore fingers for a while. Cinna seems… distracted.

I cast my eyes over the city which seems to shimmer in the fading light.

Cinna begins to speak softly. So softly I almost don't hear him.

'Peeta,' he begins cautiously, 'I have discussed your interview angle with Haymitch, and _personally_ I'm not sure how well Katniss will respond.'

I know what he means.

I too have worried about this, it's one of the reasons I have not approached Katniss before, but as I will probably never get another chance to say it. Well, frankly, it's now or never.

'I know Cinna.' I say, letting my eyes meet the floor, which is so far away I fear I may fall. 'I've worried about that before now too, but…'

Cinna picks up on my hesitation and finishes my sentence quietly.

'But now you might not get another chance to tell her how you feel.'

With this final utterance, I know Cinna understands.

He turns, leaving me staring at the candy coloured paving stones below, pats be once on the shoulder and disappears.

I don't even hear his footstep as he walks back inside. It is only when I hear the door to the stairs click shut I know he has gone.

I stand for a little longer, but then turn to go downstairs myself.

I come to a door which I judge to be about opposite Katniss's room, assuming it is mine, and just before I enter I recognise my initials written in an extravagant font.

I walk into the room and am unsurprised to see that the room that will be mine for the next week is even more elaborate than the train.

I walk straight to another door I see on the right hand side of the room and find a ridiculously large bathroom.

I peel off my black jumpsuit and boots and climb into the shower.

I am overwhelmed by the number of buttons this contraption has. I search for the 'on' button frantically and when I can't find it, I get angry.

I grunt in annoyance at the device and as my frustration level rises.

I begin to cry. Really cry, venting.

Venting my anger and my resentment at the Capitol for keeping sending me to a certain and bloody death.

Venting my relief that Katniss will finally get to hear my feelings for her.

Venting my fear at what she might say, what her reaction might be, what my family will think.

Venting my fear of the nightmare world, where that she won't love me back.

And I know I live in that world.

I begin to panic, about how I will survive in the arena. How will I kill anyone? I can't. I won't.  
But what if I _have_ to? What if it's in _defence_?

I start to accept that I will probably have to kill some of my fellow tributes but this makes me feel even worse. I just don't want to turn into some bloodthirsty monster. If I won in that circumstance, I would hate myself and so would everyone around me.

All of my mingling emotions take its toll on my state until, finally my sobs erupt.

My tears rippling down my naked and trembling body, and I end up choking out:

'I just wanted to take a shower.' As I hunch over to clasp my diaphragm to try and stop the strangled sounds from escaping my lips. I feel so vulnerable.

And miraculously, a warm curtain of water envelopes me and all my make-up stained tears wash away down the clinical white plughole.

I slowly relax as I stand, still shaking, under the soothing jets of water, which is beautifully hot.

A little too hot. But I _like_ it.

The sensation of pain grounds me, and I remember who I am. I remind myself, speaking aloud slowly once my voice has stopped wavering:

'I am Peeta Mellark. I am 16 years old. My home is District 12. I have 2 brothers, a mother and a father. I am going to the Hunger games.'

I take a deep breath as a final thought spills out of my mouth.

'I love Katniss Everdeen, and I must die if it means she will live.'


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hey you guys! I am really sorry it's been so long since I uploaded. I o try and write a little every day but what with getting my exam results last week, I got kind of side tracked. Anyway, here is chapter 8! Please read and review - I really appreciate the help!

* * *

Once I have calmed myself down. I reluctantly switch the shower off, as I can now see the buttons clearly with the haze of salt water no longer clouding my vision.

I step onto a shiny mat which must have pressure sensors or something underneath, because when I set foot on it, I am blow dried by heaters that appear from nowhere.  
As I am not expecting this, I almost trip over the towel I am attempting to wrap around my body, which is rendered useless by the time the heaters have done their job and evaporated every last drop of water from my body.

I wrap the towel around my waist anyway, feeling particularly exposed in this enormous suite, and make my way back into my room. I take it in. Properly this time.

I see the thick bed spread, complete with ornate pillows that have tassels adorning each corner. A thick rug that is in a horse shoe shape so as I get out of bed, my feet needn't touch the hard speckled marble floor and get cold. I think of how spectacularly pointless this is, as there seem to be heaters in the floor too, rendering the rug unnecessary.

Then I smell a magnificent odour wafting through the vents in my ceiling and remember how unbelievably hungry I am.  
I dress quickly in a soft maroon shirt that I pull over my head and some pants that are tighter than I'd usually wear, but by the time I realize I'm closing the door to my room behind me and strolling toward the delicious scent and into the living space of our floor.

I find, to my disappointment, that there is only a bowl of small multi-coloured sweets in the centre of the dining table. I am irritated but take a few anyway to suck on.

I wander around the huge space when I hear hushed voices coming from a window that looks out from the living room over the streets of the capitol.

As I approach I see that there is a small balcony jutting out over the street, and I am surprised to see Cinna and Portia in what looks like a deep discussion about what I _think_ must be our costumes.  
I am just a few meters from them when I hear Portia begin to whisper and I immediately stop short, not wanting to eavesdrop on their conversation, but I am too close already and end up hearing the entire discussion despite my caution.

'Well Haymitch thinks that this will boost both of their chances in the arena,'

Portia whispers harshly,

'So I think we should do as he has asked. I don't want either of them to die Cinna, least of all because we didn't go along with their mentor's decisions!'

There is a tone to Portia's voice I have not heard before and I know that she must be trying desperately to persuade Cinna of something incredibly important to her, which definitely includes me and Katniss, because I cannot imagine where a person as gentle as Portia would have need of this tone elsewhere.

As Cinna gives a sigh and nods in agreement to Portia's obviously well-argued point, Portia smiles widely.  
Then she turns, oh so slightly to see me, frozen where I stand, not knowing whether to turn and leave, or interrupt an argument of which I am obviously the topic.

'Peeta.' Portia says in mock disapproval

'Didn't your parents ever teach you not to eavesdrop?' she teases playfully.

'No, I - I wasn't. I mean… I didn't mean to -' I stammer.

'Don't worry Peeta! We need to speak with you anyway.' Portia cuts me off.

She strides over to me and wraps a matchstick arm around my shoulders comfortingly as she guides me over to where Cinna stands motionless.

'We have been talking about how to use your love angle most effectively, and we think you should be seen everywhere _together_. In training, at dinner, _everywhere_.' Portia's eyes bore into mine as she commands these things of me sternly. I nod obediently.

'We will also dress you alike, so you will wear the same training outfits and then be coordinated for your interviews in a few days' time too.'

I can't help but let my face drop as I think of what Katniss's reaction will be to our being so close all of the time.  
I know that she is a private person and she likes to be in control of her own life. That's why she hunts in the woods. Why she doesn't trust people easily. I understand why she is the way she is, and I know she will hate being forced to be so close to me, having only spoken to me for the first time 2 days ago.

Portia notices this and tells me reassuringly, 'Don't worry about Katniss, Haymitch will sort her out, and Cinna has her completely onside.' She smiles and then turns to her stylist partner.

'Don't you?'

'Yes.' Says Cinna confidently. 'We will make sure that this year, 12 will certainly have a serious chance of victory.' He also smiles warmly at me, but all I say is:

'Only one of us can win though, and it's not going to be me.'

That certainly throws a damp towel over the conversation, and we are quiet until we hear footsteps then and turn briefly to see Effie prancing down the hallway warbling,

'Dinner is served!'

Katniss follows shortly behind and we all make our way to the dinner table and I am amazed at the transformation.

The table is full, almost rammed, with beautifully prepared foods. 'Oh my…' I sigh under my breath, so that the sound escapes anyone's attention.

I am handed a small glass of what I think must be wine and take a seat next to Katniss, remembering my conversation with Portia, but right now all I see is the food.

I notice Haymitch take a seat and begin slurping at a bowl of soup as I spoon many different things onto my plate, careful not to overdo it though, remembering my night of sickness on the train.

I take slow precise bites and slowly pick away at the stack of food on my plate, trying to pay attention to the conversation at the table. I don't succeed, so I resolve to eat and then talk.

Just as I take a final bite of a sweet flavoured slice of what I think is beef, a girl sets an inflamed cake, which is as fiery as her wild hair, down on the table before Katniss. The flames dance beautifully, then fade to just around the edges where they eventually burn out.

I know that it must be a form of alcohol that creates the illusion of a flaming cake. We make a flaming pudding in winter which we can never afford ourselves of course. Except one year when my father accidentally knocked one flying onto the ground. It was a little dusty from it's time on the floor, and we all knew we couldn't sell it now. So we ate it. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever tasted. It was still warm from the flames and tasted amazing, full of expensive fruits and nuts.

I smile at the girl as thanks for this spectacular display as Katniss begins to ask what makes it burn the way it did. I am about to tell her about the burning spirits that they cover the cake with, when she suddenly stares at the girl and says,

'Oh! I know you!'

I feel the tension at the table quadruple instantly. I scan the faces of the adults, to see that Katniss's association with this girl is _not_ good.

As the girl shakes her head in denial and quickly scurries away, Effie says most disapprovingly 'Don't be _ridiculous_ Katniss. How could _you possibly_ know an _Avox_? Ugh the very _thought_.'

'What's an Avox?' asks Katniss, mirroring my thoughts.

Haymitch explains that an Avox is someone who has betrayed the capitol and has had their tongue cut so as to prevent them from speaking.

Someone who is a traitor.

The second the word traitor passes Haymitch's lips, I feel Katniss's muscles tense beside me.

'Not likely _you'd_ know her.' Says Haymitch, almost questioningly.

I don't know if Katniss does really know this girl, but the way the 4 adults are staring at her right now, I decide it'd be better if she did not.

She begins to try and brush off the incident but she stumbles over her words,

'No I guess not… I just…'

'Delly Cartwright!' I say snapping my fingers as if I have just had an epiphany.

_'That's_ who it is! I kept thinking she looked familiar as well,' I continue, 'then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly.'

I look at Katniss carefully, willing her to take my suggestion and run with it.

I see a brief moment of confusion in her eyes, but it is immediately masked with skilfully presented mock realisation.

'Of course! That's who I was thinking of! Must be the hair.'

Thank goodness.

'Something about the eyes too.' I add nonchalantly, and I feel the atmosphere relax, as Cinna says

'_Oh_, well if that's all it is.'

The conversation continues as I sigh heavily in my mind, and then shoot a glance at Katniss to see that she looks relieved.

Maybe this will help her to begin to trust me.

I hope it does.

As I begin to lose interest in the line of conversation, which has now turned to our parade attire, I wonder whether Katniss really does know the Avox girl.

I resolve to confront and ask later, when we are dismissed and finally left alone by our menagerie of companions.

Now everyone has finished eating, we move to the living room, which is naturally enormous and has several leathery blue couches positioned before a huge screen which dominates the far wall. As Effie taps a button on a panel hidden away on an end table, the screen comes alive with coverage of the parade, and I can't help but notice that our faces seem to be shown far more often than anyone else's.

Caesar Flickerman narrates the parade and often gushes over our incredible costumes, 'An unexpected twist from District 12 this year!' he tells us.

Then there is a long shot of Katniss and I in the chariot.

There is a lull in the conversation following our teams several Oohs and Ahs at our blazing capes.

Eventually Haymitch turns to the stylists and asks, 'Whose idea was the hand holding?'

Portia replies quickly beaming at her partner, 'Cinna's!'

Cinna just gives Haymitch a modest smile and then returns to staring at the screen.

'Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice.' Haymitch pipes up again.

What?

Rebellion?

That is _not_ what we agreed on.

The hand holding, I _thought_, was to help our angle for the interviews.

Not stir up rebellion.

I suddenly see, that the hand holding shows the capitol audience that we are united and therefore means a good show for them. But to the audience in the districts? It could send a whole other message. That we are not going to go out without a fight. That even the weakest, smallest district can make a stand. That we are united against our Capitol oppressors. That we are stronger together.

This could be catastrophic.

As I continue to think this through, the idea of a rebellion, I decide it may not be such a terrible concept. Chances are I'm going to die in the arena anyway, so if I unintentionally begin another rebellion of the districts, at least I won't be around to suffer the repercussions of my defiance.

As I emerge from my thoughts, I notice that Haymitch is addressing us.

He inform us that the first training session is tomorrow and we are to meet him for breakfast to discuss tactics.

Then, finally, he dismisses us.

I stand eagerly, happy to put some distance between our companions. Katniss joins me and we walk down the hall.

As we come to her bedroom, I remember about the Avox girl.

I spin around in front of her and end up leaning against the frame of her door. I am strategically placed so that she must pay me attention now. I try not to block her entrance though; I still want her to trust me.

I can see that she knows I want her attention, and I'll bet she can guess what about.

I don't want to discuss it here though. Who knows what kind of bugs they have in this place. I try to think of the safest way to bring up the encounter with the red headed girl.

'So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here.'

I pause waiting for an answer.

I do not receive one.

I know that she must be imagining the many ways they could be listening in on us, or even watching us right now.

I try to think of a safe place we can go, somewhere where we will not be overheard.

Perhaps the roof?

It's probably windy up there now, and I remember the sound of wind chimes in the back of my mind. They alone could mask our conversation.

Plus, Cinna took me there to talk privately, and if he thinks it's safe enough, that's good enough for me.

I can see the hesitation in her features. The way her bottom lip hangs slightly open as though she may answer, but it waver as she struggles to keep hidden whatever he must be wanting to talk about.

'Have you been on the roof yet?' I ask quietly.

Katniss shakes her head in reply.

'Cinna showed me,' I tell her. 'You can practically see the whole city.' I marvel in fake admiration making my point.

'the wind's a little loud though.'

I pause and wait for her answer, I can see the cogs turning in her brain while she evaluates whether or not to come with me.

She looks a little bemused by this and ask me, 'Can we just go up?'

'Sure' I nod my head as I step towards her and point her in the right direction. I desperately want to place a protective arm around her petite shoulders but I decide against this idea.

'Come on.' I say simply, as I lead her toward the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hi guys, I am so sorry I haven't updated in so long, I'm back at college now and everything has been manic and I've only just got a chance to post this new chapter! It is mostly dialogue, but there are some interesting thoughts in here too! I'll try to update every Tuesday from now on! OH, and I do not own The Hunger Games, all character and some of the conversation in this chapter belongs to Suzanne Collins!

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As we emerge onto the roof, I feel the wind ruffling my hair straight away and I know that if we are quiet, we will not be heard by any listening devices the Capitol may have installed up here.  
As I walk across to the handrail where I stood with Cinna just a little while ago, I glance around spying a small man made garden about 20metres to the left with many intricate wind chimes clinking in the breeze. I think how useful they too will be in blocking out our conversation if the need should arise.

I reach the hand rail and lean ever so slightly over the edge to see the street below. It is illuminated with lights far too bright; it _should_ be dark by this time at night, but the capitol is still buzzing with people, even at this ridiculous hour.

Katniss comes up beside me, takes a look over the edge and then as I first did, instinctively takes a tiny step back. Human nature getting the better of even the most fearless girl I know.

After a moments silence I decide to start the conversational ball rolling.

'I asked Cinna why we are even allowed up here, weren't they worried about tributes jumping right over the side,' I begin nonchalantly.

'What'd he say?' Katniss replied

'You can't.' I say, suddenly irritated at the amount of control this place has over us.

I glance sideways to see Katniss looking at me quizzically, and in answer I stick my hand right into the force field and am rewarded with a harsh zap.

I quickly recoil my arm.

'Some kind of electric field throws you right back on the roof.' I tell her, rubbing my hand.

'Always worried about our safety,' Katniss remarks sarcastically and a real smile creeps onto my lips for the first time since before the reaping.

Do you think they're watching us now?' she asks me in a hushed voice.

'Maybe,' I admit

Katniss looks at her shoes, obviously nervous that we will get into trouble for being up here so late at night.

'Why don't you come see the garden?' I suggest, having only seen it on walking past, I quite want to see it myself, but also, I think that the wind chimes on such a breezy night as this could be used to our advantage.

Katniss nods and I lead her to an opening in the hedgerow which is so short it doesn't even graze my knees. The trees are beautiful silhouetted against the light-polluted night sky. They smell somewhat like the sweets Mrs Alto makes, in the sweet shop next door to the bakery, on a hot district 12 summer's day. The blossom covered branches are littered with jingling wind chimes.

I lean up against the trunk of one of the trees while Katniss takes hold of a pastel pink blossom in her fingers, caressing it carefully.

She looks at me and I raise my eyebrows in anticipation.

There is a small pause before Katniss begins her story.

'We were hidden in the woods one day… waiting for game…' she whispers, still obviously unsure about the safety of her words.

'You and your father?' I ask, filling her brief silence, but I know as I say the words, that Katniss's father will not feature in this story.

'No,' she replies, 'my friend Gale.'

Katniss continues, oblivious to my inner pain at the mention of the guy who is essentially her boyfriend, which is disguised with a mask of indifference.

'Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once, all except one, which sounded like it was giving a warning call.' She tells me.

'Then we saw her; Im sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her too, their clothes were tattered, and they had rings under their eyes from lack of sleep. They were running so fast… as if their lives depended on it…''

I look at Katniss's crumpled features as she pauses, and I know it has taken a lot for her to trust me enough to expose this painful memory and tell me this story.

I do not interrupt this silence. I know she needs this to regain her composure, so as not to appear weak in front of me, a potential opponent.

Then she continues carefully,

'The hover craft cae out of nowhere. I mean one minute the sky was empty, the next there it was… It didn't even make a sound.'

Katniss stares into my eyes but I know she is trapped in her memory, she is not really seeing me.

'Some kind of net was dropped n the girl and they carried her up _fast. So fast, _like theelevator_.' _She tells me.

Then, they shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to some sort of cable and hauled him up as well, but I'm sure he was dead… We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name I think… Then, it was gone…'

Katniss continues to talk, but I am still seeing the image of the screaming terrified girl crying out as she watched her partner, or perhaps brother skewered so brutally. A shiver runs don my spine.

'Did they see you?' I manage to get out as I realise Katniss has finished.

'I don't know…' she replies, but I know instantly that she is lying. Her tell is that she looks at the floor, doesn't blink and then, sometimes, scuffs her feet.

This must be why she looked so guilty when she realised at the table who the girl was, just before I jumped in with my 'Delly Cartwright' ruse. The girl saw her, and she saw the girl, but she didn't and couldn't help.

I am suddenly washed over with a feeling of compassion for Katniss as really see _her _for the first time_._ Not the hard sullen shell she protects herself with, but the real Katniss Everdeen. My girl in the plaid dress.

'You're shivering.' I tell Katniss and I shed my thermal jacket and cross the small walk way to her shivering frame. I wrap the coat around her small but strong shoulders.

I feel her recoil at first, shying away from my hands, but then suddenly she relaxes and allows my act of friendship.

'So they were from here?' I ask her, continuing whilst securing a button or two around her neck.

She simply nods in answer.

'Where do you think they were going?' I ask, genuinely bemused.

'I don't know…' she replies slowly 'why would they leave here?'

'I' leave here.' I say in a voice a lot louder than our previous hushed whispers. I am immediately aware of this and chuckle nervously to cover up my foolishness.

'I'd go home now if they let me,' I continue nonchalantly 'but you have to admit the food here is prime.'

I sigh in my mind. I hope that my stupid outburst will now just sound like a conversation between two scared tributes from a weak district if it was overheard by anyone.

I smile at Katniss and then tell her 'We'd better go in, it's getting pretty chilly.'

She doesn't respond. Only rises out of her current position, slumped against a tree and straightens up, waiting for me to lead back toward the door to the dome.

As we reach the door, I ask 'Your friend Gale, is that the guy who took away your sister at the reaping?' genuinely curious because I had never really seen Gale Hawthorne until that fateful day.

'Yes,' She tells me quickly, 'Do you know him?'

'Not really' I shrug, 'But I hear the girl talking about him a _lot_, I thought he was your cousin or something. You _favour_ each other.' I say, a tiny edge of jealousy in my voice which I hope Katniss doesn't pick up on.

'No, we're not related.' Katniss says, quick to correct my assumption.

My heart may as well have dropped right into my toes at this but I cover up my pain as she looks at my expression and tries to read my face.

I know she can't.

'Did he, come to say goodbye to you?' I ask tentatively, unsure whether I want to know the answer.

'Yes' she admits, attempting to study my face without being spotted, but she actually ends up staring utterly indiscreetly.

'So did your father,' She adds. 'He brought me cookies.'

My father? Why? I try to hide the confusion that cross my face but I know I will not succeed.

Perhaps because of his favour of Katniss's mother?

'Really?' I ask 'Well, he likes you, and your sister. I think he wishes he had at least one daughter instead of a house full of boys.'

I see a flicker of the same confusion I felt cross her face so I clarify saying,

'He knew your mother when they were kids.'

'Oh yes, she grew up in town.' Is all she has to say in return.

We have reached Katniss's door now and she hands back my jacket which I had all but forgotten about.

'See you in the morning then,' She almost asks me.

'See you.' Is all I can muster in return.

I walk slowly down the hall towards my own room and shut the door slowly behind me, leaning on it once it has fully closed.

I suddenly feel, unbelievably homesick, and I am taken aback by how easily I have forgotten about my family.

My conversation with Katniss has been the first time they have crossed my mind since I broke down in the shower that first day.

I think how much Katniss must think of her mother, of her little sister Prim. How close they all are. My family have never had that, but perhaps now I am to be thrown into the games, they will.

A final thought stays with me as I strip down to my undershorts and crawl under the warm covers.

This thought is: I wonder if my family will even miss me when I die.


End file.
